


Inspirational

by SDCDCI



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Elementary (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, But everything will turn out alright in the end, Crossover, Gen, I love Joan Watson with my whole soul, M/M, Set after Season Two of Elementary and after the Stanley Cup finals in the comic, parse-positive, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDCDCI/pseuds/SDCDCI
Summary: "In the end, it wasn’t hordes of journalists who found them, laying low in a low-key but tasty hotel north of the border. It wasn’t their parents or friends or teammates or team-management. It was a tiny Asian woman who seemed nice enough until she opened her mouth told them that her name was Joan Watson, and she was here on behalf of Kent Parson."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is not heavy on the plot, and I'm probably late to the party with emotion-driven short reaction fics, I know. But. Some stuff happened, and I suddenly wanted to write a short fic about what kind of stuff you can/should do for the people you love, and what to do if they don't love you back and/or don't particularly want you doing shit for them. Like, doesn't it feel like we all been there, on one or another side of the equation?

In the end, it wasn’t hordes of journalists who found them, laying low in a low-key but tasty hotel north of the border. It wasn’t their parents or friends or teammates or team-management. It was a tiny Asian woman who seemed nice enough until she opened her mouth told them that her name was Joan Watson, and she was here on behalf of Kent Parson.

Bitty closed the door immediately. Judging by the sigh from the other side of the doorway, Ms Watson didn’t really expect different reaction. Good. He meant, what the fuck? He mouthed as much to Jack, who stood a couple of steps to the center of the sitting room, looking blank. He didn’t respond to Bitty, probably because he didn’t meet his gaze, all his attention on the door, as though Ms Watson would turn out to be a ninja assassin or ex-government superspy sent by Parson to kill them. 

Bitty touched his hand. “Do we call hotel security?” he said uncertainly. Jack turned his blank stare on Bitty then and nodded his head slightly.

“Understand, please, that I’m here only to ask you one question, explain a couple of things, if needs be, and all in all, I can be out of here in a fifteen minutes, and none the wiser that I ever been here or why,” said Ms Watson, slightly raising her voice. “But if someone, say, hotel security, were to question me about why am I here, I would need to offer an explanation, and in the course of my career I found it easier not to lie.”

Jack clenched his jaw. Bitty clenched his fists. How dare this woman treating them! What the fuck Parson is thinking, who does he think he is? He had half a mind to ask her just that and then go gather their things so they could find another hotel, but Jack said: “Let her in.”

“Are you sure?” asked Bitty.

“Fifteen minutes and then she’s gone,” replied Jack.

Bitty was not so sure about that, and certain that they didn’t have to give her even five, no, one minute. But. If she found them here, she could find them in another hotel, too, or maybe leak their whereabouts to the press. It seemed like someone Parson paid off would do. Maybe she already did it? And now just stalling for the time it takes the hounds to get here?

Jack noticed his hesitation and tried to smile encouragingly, squeezing his hand. Bitty then went and opened the door.

“Just to be clear,” he said to Ms Watson, waving his smartphone at her. “I’ll have the countdown running.”

“For this, you would need to boot it up first,” dryly replied she, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “But don’t worry, my watch will suffice.”

“Turn off your phone too,” said Jack. 

And she did so, demonstratively.

After a couple of seconds, as it became clear to her they won’t be offering her to sit, she got into the business.

“Mr Parson has utmost respect to the courage it took you both to come out so publically as you did, and that you, Mr Zimmerman, became first out NHL player ever, on your own terms.”

Bitty snorted; yeah, right. Jack didn’t react visibly or verbally, but Bitty still wanted to rub his arm soothingly, and so he did.

“In fact, that you did was so inspiring, to him, that he wants to follow your suit,” said Ms Watson.

Jack thinned his lips. 

“He can do whatever he wants,” he said with a little difficulty. “I don’t care and I am not responsible for his actions.”

Ms Watson raised her hands.

“Didn’t mean to imply you are,” she said soothingly. “But there is still a matter of how he should proceed. He can make a simple comment on how important it is that you came out for him personally and how it had given him the courage to do the same. He, of course, would decline any question regarding your personal relationships or history. In fact, he won’t be answering any other questions about you, himself or any other players, except if it is about hockey. The second road he could take is to become as visible and outspoken about the issue as he can. He would give interviews, accept invitations to talk shows and other things as much as it will be needed until the news cycle gives people other things to talk about.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bitty, and he really didn’t. “How it is any of our business? He can do whatever he wants unless he won’t leave us alone. Or is he threatening Jack with going to the press about their past unless Jack does something he wants? Well, then he can go crawl in a hole and die, because… ”

“Bitty,” softly said Jack.

“What? It’s blackmail, it’s what it is!”

“More like emotional manipulation,” murmured Jack. 

Ms Watson rolled her eyes.

“Mr Parson doesn’t want anything from either of you except an answer to the question. Would you be opposed to Mr Parson stealing your thunder, so to speak? Maybe you do have a handle on the situation, PR-wise, and he doesn’t know it. Maybe you don’t have a plan on what to do from now on, but you don’t want to lose an opportunity to use the attention this situation gave you to your gain. I know Georgia Martin a little, if anyone can spin it off to the best possible outcome for a player and the franchise, not to mention the sport as a whole, it’s her. But maybe you don’t want to do all these things. Well, there’s someone who does.”

“So what does he want, us, Jack to be grateful to him? To feel obligated?” asked Bitty angrily. “Look, Ms Watson, I don’t know exactly in what capacity you represent Parson, how much does he pay you. But you do understand that this…” he waved his hand, “is not okay? That it borders on stalking?”

“I was his sober companion for a year,” calmly replies Ms Watson. “After he was drafted by Aces. The management hired me. He did not need me. He does not have an alcohol addiction or a drug problem. He certainly is not at risk at becoming a sex addict. His main issue is his poor decision-making skills. Thus him hiring me, in a PI capacity. But I don’t think he is stalking you, and I do believe he will be satisfied with any answer you give and won’t disturb you anymore. He needs closure, and for someone to make a tough decision for him, for the last time.”

“I’m not…” said Jack and fell silent for a moment, struggling with breathing through the nose. “I am not responsible for Kent Parson, nor I will ever be. I don’t want it. I don’t want to have anything to do with him, ever again. What he does is not my concern.”

Ms Watson just nodded and said: “Thank you for your time.”

That was it? Bitty couldn’t believe it, but the woman really went to the door. Before she turned the handle, he suddenly asked:

“How did you find us? We paid in cash, we used pseudonyms.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ms Watson. “It was just a bit of a detective work. How far could you drive in the car? What direction would you have likely taken? What kind of places would be seen by you as a comfortable way to lay low? It is actually a third one in the vicinity I checked. I doubt anyone would try the same way. So you’re safe for now, baring a chance meeting with a fan with an Instagram addiction.”

She left them there, in confusion and disquiet. “Don’t worry,” glumly thought Bitty. Was the woman joking? She found them so easily, they could be found again at any moment! 

“We need to check out,” he said decisively. 

Jack shook his head. 

“We need to wait for Parson to make his move.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As a rule, Joan Watson did not take upon herself a task of finding people who did not want to be found, if they were not criminals or witnesses or victims whose testimony would be vital for a case. No matter what she said later to Eric Bittle, she did find Kent’s obsession with Jack Zimmerman unhealthy. Even if Kent indulged in drinks and make out sessions with strangers for a large part of his time on the Aces before Joan came along, Zimmerman was his only addiction, and she did her best to help him wean off.
> 
> For a time it helped."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wanted to wait a week at least, until the next sunday, to have time to put things i wrote in a perspective, to edit this chapter. because in the morning after posting the first one i became unsure if this part of the fic tells that i think it does, that i intended to. because i wanted this fic to be parse-positive, see, it's even in the tags, but he comes off stalkerish. as it is seen in chapter 2, he knows it, joan knows it (and still helps him because she's struggling to move on herself).  
> but in the end, though. i do regret that kent feels the need to make this move to move on even if he knows also that he really shouldn't. but i don't actually want to change anything.  
> i wonder how my perception of this thing i'd written will change with time.

As a rule, Joan Watson did not take upon herself a task of finding people who did not want to be found, if they were not criminals or witnesses or victims whose testimony would be vital for a case. No matter what she said later to Eric Bittle, she did find Kent’s obsession with Jack Zimmerman unhealthy. Even if Kent indulged in drinks and make out sessions with strangers for a large part of his time on the Aces before Joan came along, Zimmerman was his only addiction, and she did her best to help him wean off. 

For a time it helped, and both management and Joan concluded her business there done. He called her both times when he relapsed. Joan could only tell him how futile it was, after the fact and not before or instead, and that he would be better off calling his therapist. Both time he apologized for taking up her time and disconnected the call.

This time, Kent did not contact her, or anyone. He had gone to the ground for a few days. The management became anxious. Nobody even knew if he was alive, after the 72 hours.

“I know you’re not a sober companion anymore,” said Olivia Beecham, who they were in the med school together, long time ago. She was the one who recommended Joan’s services to Aces all these years ago. no longer just team nutritionist but the head of the medical team, Olivia took it upon herself to contact Joan again, when it became clear that no matter what was happening in Kent’s head right now, it couldn’t be good. “I need you in a consulting detective capacity.”

“Did you checked at his apartment?” asked Joan gently.

 

“Yes! Swoops, I mean, Troy, he’s Kent right hand on the team now, he ringed the bell for half an hour, nobody opened up. The doorman swears he did not see Kent come or leave all this time. He promised to give a ring if Kent ever shows up. Also, right now at least one pap’s is near his apartment building. If he came back home, we would know. We also checked in with his mother and sister, nobody hears anything from him in three days.”

Joan sighed.

Okay, she wanted to get out of New York for a while, too. So she caught a plane to Vegas. She still remembered where Kent lives, and still remembered a nice grocery store not far out of the way. She went there first, remembering also to get treats for his cat.

She did not bother ringing a bell or knocking. She picked the lock. She was met with eerie silence, and also with Kit mewing her greetings. It was nice to know she wasn’t forgotten.

She deposited groceries in the kitchen, some went to the empty fridge, some went to equally empty (except for the cat food) cupboards. She brewed herself a cup of coffee, Kit always under her foot. She seemed starved of affection a little, or maybe bored. But she definitely didn’t seem hungry.

“So,” Kent said, shuffling in the kitchen after some time. “I would have betted on Swoops breaking down the doors, or someone calling the cops to discover my dead body being eaten by the Kit. Where did you learn to pick a lock?”

“Were you _hoping_ that Jeff breaks down the door?” she asked dryly.

“Just seemed more likely,” he shrugged. “Who’s paying you this time?”

“I’m not really sure,” she said. “Olivia wanted me to not only find you but turn you in.”

“Do I need to double your fee for it not to happen?”

“No, but you can offer me a more interesting case to work.” said Joan. “You know how now I am a consulting detective?”

“I don’t need a private eye,” he said, confused and starting to get angry. He defensively crossed his arms.

“You need a breakfast, a shower, a visit to your therapist, to take your meds if you were prescribed any, and to get a move with your life.”

He laughed without any humor.

‘What did you do for the last four days?” asked Joan. She looked at his rumpled clothes, he was still in jeans that looked like a streetwear, but with an old, long and soft-looking T-shirt. His eyes were red, but not puffy. He was pale but didn’t squeeze his eyes painfully in a sunlit kitchen. His hands did not shake, his breath didn’t stink of alcohol.

Before that, she saw already dirty dishes, five or seven of them in the sink, eggshells, an empty packet of sliced bread. 

“You binge-watching something,” she said. “Still? It’s either a couple of different things or all the Supernatural since season five.”

“I would say you know me so well,” sighed Kent. “But actually I installed Sims4. Though I gave Winchesters a try again, I just couldn’t stomach it.”

Joan nodded. “The drama.”

“Yes! And total lack of communication skills. It could have saved them a lot of trouble if they were just capable to talk to each other.”

They both cracked up a smile at that. 

“So what case do you want me to assign you?” asked Kent, getting a cup of coffee himself. “How to be happy? How not to feel alone? How to be alone and be fine with it? How to move on?”

“I think you know how-to pretty well, at this point,” she said, though she could not say the same for herself. “You just not allowing yourself to.”

He was quiet for a while, drinking coffee. His stomach grumbled, he looked sheepishly. Joan waved her hand to the fridge, indicating that there was food, now. He busied himself for a half an hour with making them lunch. Joan drank her coffee and amused herself with petting Kit. Did Jeff hear her mewling anxiously on the other side of the door when he came to Kent? Did he thought that Kent would just leave her?

“I know what I need to do,” said Kent, after setting the table and having a bit or two to eat. “It won’t make me happy, per se. I don’t think happiness is achievable at all. Like, you either have it or not. But you can make your life not actively suck, you know?”

Joan hummed noncommittally. 

“I want to come out,” he said, and then busied himself with food. Joan waited.

“I wanted to come out for a very long time. I didn’t, though. Even then I was certain I won’t get booted from the team. Management knows, some guys from the team too. They more or less okay with that. Some guys not so much, but. Who cares. Only of course I care. It’s tiring. But inevitable. But not the point! The point, I want to come out in a more broader sense. And I should have done it long ago. But somehow… I don’t know. I was scared it would throw a shade on the Jack as well. We don’t have the best relationship, we don’t have a relationship, period. I was worried it would piss him off even more. And I didn’t want to make his life harder than it already is. So.”

“But now you can,” Joan said.

“And now I can!” said Kent. “And it was my first thought, you know. My first not pathetic thought, alright, fine. I was out with guys when it all happened, Carl was making comments, as he does every time. I wanted to shove his words down his throat, you know? And explain why. But. Something you said that one time, it stuck with me, and over the years I proved you right. I have piss poor impulse control. I do stupid shit when I don’t think it through. So I didn’t say anything to Carl. I drove straight home and since then I was on radio silence. God, how many people are pissed at me right now? I want to avoid making a bad move and I do it with making a bad move.”

“One thing at a time, Kent,” reminded him Joan.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. So. I want to come out. And I will do it. There’s nothing stopping me now.”

“Except that hockey is a pretty homophobic sport, and you would call upon yourself even more harassment from fans and colleagues alike. Maybe something worse,” calmly said Joan.

“Shit, you’re not sugar-coating anything. Aren’t you supposed to support me in this?”

Joan shrugged.

“But anyway, there’s nothing stopping me except homophobic assholes, now. And I don’t really care about that? I mean, it sucks, it will suck even more. But the worst case scenario is I’m forced to an early retirement. So what? I have a couple of Stanley cups under my belt anyway. I’m rich. I’m still healthy. Okay, no, so the worst case scenario would be members of opposing team targeting me in a match, like, me specifically, though it still happens sometimes. And my team not having my back. And if that would be the case then I’m a shitty captain anyway. And, say, I’m getting injured, for real, career-ending injury, or, like, something worse. Like, not being able to walk, or, shit, maybe even turning up dead. But it’s a violent sport, I could end up like this anyway. Or it could be even simpler, like getting a stalker who would, in the end, kill me. And still, I’m famous, it still can happen anyway. You’re following so far?”

Joan shrugged.

“It still can happen even if I don’t do anything, only with the added bonus that I didn’t do anything, ever, and felt all my life shitty about it. So this, I think, is a chance. A sign. Something. A wake-up call. If you want to do something, you just do it.”

“Alright,” said Joan. “So what’s stopping you?”

“How do I do it?”

“Did you try to talk to PR department?”

Kent grimaced.

“Not what I mean. I meant, me, coming out just a week or two after… Jack, it would make waves. I could either ride them out or hide under the rock somewhere, as he did. What do I do?”

“What would you prefer to do?” reasonably asked Joan.

“I think I would prefer to make my voice as loud as possible. So I could shut up all these assholes.”

“So do that.”

“But!” he gestured with a fork. “What if Jack thinks I’m trying to steal his thunder or something? He has that notion that I was always jealous of him like it was a whole basis of our relationships. Shit. I’m not supposed to say relationships. My obsession with him. Or that I’m trying to make him notice me or something.”

“And you not?”

“Not jealous? Not trying to make him notice me? Hell yes to the last one, I’m a slow study but I’m not that dumb and desperate and without even ounce of self-respect. As for the first one. I don’t really want to think about or talk about and want it to just go away.”

“Okay,” said Joan. “You coming out in a wake of Jack is not about him though it’s tied to him, even if it’s only chronically. He was first, so now you feel like you able to do it without compromising him. So what does it matter what he would think?”

Kent puckered brows.

“It doesn’t. I know it doesn’t.”

Joan sighed.

“You know it shouldn’t, but.”

“Yeah,” said Kent. 

“What would you do if Jack said he doesn’t want you to do something? For example, to ‘steal’ this truly golden PR opportunity?” 

Joan didn’t make air quotes but trusted her voice was sarcastic enough.

“I would probably do it anyway,” said Kent. “It’s a trick question, right? He has no right answer here. Like I don’t have any right to ask it from him. Does that make sense?”

Strangely, but it did.

“Alright,” said Joan. “I’m going to find Jack Zimmerman and ask the question. You’re going to accept the answer and move on and pay me ten thousand dollars for the job.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent Parson's tell-all for the Out magazine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, I'm sorry if it sucks and a mess and all over the place, and if it has errors. If I don't post it now, after I wrote it, I won't ever post it, because it's, what, my twentieth attempt at ending this fic?? sounds about right.  
> go yell/snap at me snidely at me in the comments, if you want. i deserve it.

It's a middle prince range Manhattan loft. The building has security, but not too much. There wasn't any crowd of fans on the sidewalk to signify that a famous person resides here. But then again, it's New York, and we're talking about a hockey player, here, and not from Rangers or even Islanders. Or maybe the security is doing something right, I muse while waiting for the elevator.

  
I'm wrong, though, I will find out later. He doesn't live here. "Just crushing on my pal's couch," he says. "Just didn't feel like being home, for this. You know?"  
I suppose I do.

  
He's not what I was expecting. When I was told my next assignment will be an interview for a NHL player, well.

_He's not who I was expecting._

  
"I know, right?" he laughs when I tell him that. "This year is just full of surprises. Can't wait to see what the next season will be like."

  
I hum in agreement, but still can't keep my face expressionless.

  
"Why now, you're thinking?" He sighs, stretches his legs on a couch. "Well, why not? Seemed like a thing to do."

  
Pardon my French, but I call bullshit. I ask directly: _Does it have anything to do with the public coming out of another professional hockey player?_

  
"You mean, did it felt safer for me to take this step after someone else took it?" He paraphrases. It is intentional, I think: it makes it safer to answer.

  
"I don't really think Zimmerman's coming out will have all that much impact on the hockey culture, or male team professional sports, as a whole. I mean, he was the first who did it in hockey, right? While still playing. But there were basketball players, the football player... And correct me if I'm wrong, they're not playing anymore. Shit, is there any out active major league LGBTQ+ athlete?"

  
Not to my knowledge, no, and it's kinda my job to know those things.

  
He just shrugs, there you go.  
His smile slips, for the first time since I came through the door. He doesn't look at me anymore, taps his fingers on his tight.

  
I'm not in a hurry to get a move on it, to ask the next question, because like that it seems like I can see him truly. I'm hesitant to say he's scared, but he's not relaxed either. He slouches. His shoulders tense. One of them is slightly twitches, and I don't know if it's a nervous tick or just an old injury that bothers him from time to time.

  
He is in sweats and wife-beater. The one thing that is missing from his usual look is an Ace's throwback, my first instinct to say, but no, it's not right. He usually wears bright, vibrant colors. Yellow, purple, red. Not at the same time, of course, this man knows his fashion or has someone to know it for him. But now he is in light-gray and white. His hair is shorter, almost a buzz-cut.

  
I would say he wants to reaffirm his masculinity this way, but... He still has a build of someone who can mess me up after I will publish that, but he looks tired. He looks washed out, not strong.

  
He has bags under his eyes. He's thin. It's not that unusual for the offseason, but let's just say I have bad experiences with stuff like that. And there were rumors, weren't there?  
I glance at his forearms. Don't know what I was expecting to find there, track marks? He is a professional athlete. Usually, 9 months of the year he's surrounded by other people while he's naked every other evening after a game, and there are team doctors, of course. It is dumb. But there's nothing. His skin is clean.

There isn't even a tattoo anywhere I can see. Huh. Didn't expect that, to be honest. He always struck me as someone who would get a tattoo on his face if it wasn't prohibited by his contract.

Maybe it is prohibited by his contract? Or maybe he has a tattoo, just not anywhere anyone could see?

I shake my head. My staring officially goes on too long. It is awkward now, and maybe slightly creepy.

_What about Dugan and Apps?_

  
Kent snaps out of his fugue, looks at me in the eyes, a smile ready.

  
"Yes! Very cute, their story. I'm sorry, I'm an asshole. I wasn't trying to imply anything by my remark. Was just thinking about male sports teams. I don't think women have it easier or anything."

  
God, give this man a shovel and he will dig his grave.   
I'm willing to give him a pass.

  
 _If he finds this story '_ cute', _and also was inspired by the most famous kiss in NHL to come out, does this means he is rather romantic himself?_

"Don't know. Maybe I was, once upon a time. But. Look, I don't know if I should tell you this. I don't want to give a wrong message, alright?"

_To the fans?_

  
"No. Well, yes, but, more like. To people like me. Because I know how hard it is to struggle with who you are. When you don't even really know what you are, what does it even mean. Sometimes it felt like the end of the world, alright? Like, I was broken, something was not right with me."

  
He puts both his legs on the ground, place his hands on the knees, takes deep breaths. Still struggles to speak.

  
"It felt, sometimes, like I'm gonna die alone, you know? And I don't want anyone to feel that way. To look at me, and see the sad, lonely man, and think, well, that' my future. No one gonna love me like this."

  
_He is young, rich, famous, healthy, good-looking man who lives in Las Vegas. Surely he understands that he can find a boyfriend? Especially after this interview, he will not need to hide his relationships anymore._

  
He scoffs at that.

  
"Well, I can't. It's not because I'm asexual, though. It's because I'm me. And let's not try to make this interview into a therapy session. I know I'm a catch. It just..."

_Not enough?_

  
He shrugs.

  
"But!" he adds quickly. "Not because I'm asexual. Plenty of asexuals have stable, loving relationships, marriages, even. I read about it."  
He turns slightly pink, saying that.

_So, he doesn't know any other asexuals?_

"Not really, no. Sometimes, I talk to people on the Internet, who identify the same as me or something like that... There's the whole scale, like a Kinsey scale, but... You know, there're asexuals, there're allosexuals, there's grey sexuality or demi..."

He trails off, shrugs.

"Many people, many experiences. I don't want young and impressionable people to read this and think they will end up like me."

_But he still has time, doesn't he?_

  
"Do I?" he laughs. "I don't know. Sometimes, for me, it seems unreal that I'm in my middle-twenties, pushing thirties. Didn't always imagine being this old. Can really imagine being older."

  
Something in how he says it makes me think he's not talking about his party lifestyle, live fast-die young situation.  
It makes me slightly uncomfortable, but this is really not a therapy session.  
So, he thinks his best years behind him? He loved and lost and will not again? I don't voice this question. I get a feeling he will just shrug.

  
_What were his past relationships like?_

"Don't think I ever had one, to be honest."

Well, that's unexpected. _Is he?_..

He takes a pity on me.

  
"I'm not a virgin if that's what you're asking me. But I wouldn't say the sex I had was a relationship."

_Why did he, then? Not that sex could be had only in a committed relationship, but with him being asexual and all, what was the purpose?_

"I was still figuring myself out. It seemed like a thing to do. I wanted to have sex, don't get me wrong. Not like wanted, wanted, but, like. I heard about it growing up, you know? You're supposed to want it. And I thought, maybe I do want it, just scared, or something. Trow into the mix the fact that my romantical orientation is... Well, I'm not into girls romantically, either, I guess. At least, based on my past experiences. I know so many awesome women, but I never wanted to hold their hand or something. So I thought, with me being in love in a boy, it was a huge part of it. Not really wanting to... you know. Thinking it's gross."

He hastily adds, looking at me again.

"I don't think sex is gross, for the record. Consensual, safe sex is not gross. For other people. Who are not me. I'm pretty much anti-sexual, I think? I don't know. It is funny, to think that, a little. Because I had a fair share of it. I can do it okay. I just don't... Like. The most positive experience I had? Was when I dissociated so hard I didn't really feel anything."

  
_Why did he keep going, then? If he figured out he was not into it?_

  
"Ah. Well. At the time, I still didn't. As I said, I thought it was a thing to do. And I thought it meant something." He looks at me, again. I notice that when he says something in general, not about his own experiences, he has a better time looking at me. Or maybe he makes more effort, to convince me or something. "I don't think sex doesn't mean anything. Sex means exactly that all parties participating want it to mean."

  
_And if people participating in the act have a difference in opinions?_

  
"Um, you probably should talk about it before engaging in it? I think? I honestly don't know, except that it sucks."

  
_So. He's only dated assholes. Or had one-night stands with assholes?_

  
"Eh, I wouldn't call people who don't really like me back assholes, would you? You like someone, they don't like you back, it's not their fault."

_Really? No one liked him back?_

"Um, it was more, like, one person, numerous one-night stands? So. Yeah."

He is romantic, then. _One unrequited love, and he is willing to hang his skates on the wall, is that it?_

"What are you, a relationships coach? And love can be unrequited, you know. Whatever I was thinking at the time, it probably wasn't love."

He stands, agitated.

  
"I'm going to make us coffee, yeah? And when I come back, you better be prepared to ask me better questions. Not about my non-existent love life. Because I don't want it to be a focus of this conversation. I am not a poster boy for asexuality, people can have love in their lives and not have sex. And anyway, even if they don't have love. Life has so much to give you, yeah?"

He goes to the kitchen, still talking.

"I mean, even me, look at me for example. I have the most awesome career imaginable. I play on the best team I could wish for. We had two Cups, and if I have something to say about it, there will be more. I have friends! They are awesome people, and not only hockey players, even. I have two cats! Two! And I saw almost all the USA and a good chunk of Canada. I was at the Olympics. I visited Norway for a couple months, it's so beautiful it hurts, in a good way. My mom, she's still talking to me, even if I was a disaster in my teenage years, and for some time after. Put her through hell. And she visits, sometimes I visit her. We talk now, like adults, because we both are. It was not something I imagined, ever, growing up."

He cames back, with two cups of coffee, creamery, croissants, jam, cheese, ham.

"I cook, sometimes," he confesses. "It's pretty hit and miss, most of the times, but."

He shrugs again, but he's smiling, now.

_So, his life is awesome now. Is he worried it might change?_

"Nah," he says, but immediately sips from his cup. Gives himself time to think about the answer. "Will my team view me differently? Will management? Will fans? I don't know. I don't think so. I am still me, Kent Parson, a human disaster, a man who likes Britney Spears for her songs unapologetically, a person who made an Instagram for his cats, a player who has mad hockey skills, if I' allowed to say so myself."

His smile is very bright.

"And I know my friends won't care. My mother, she had time to come to terms I'm not giving her grandchildren anytime soon unless I retire and decide to adopt. Maybe I will."  
He seems very hopeful, and a little surprised, like the idea didn't cross his mind before.

He seems lighter, after getting all this off his chest. Did it help?

_Will he advise anyone else to follow in his step?_

"To come out? Hell no. You do you, at your own time, when you feel ready and when you feel safe. Remember that I said about other LGBTQA athletes? There are few, mostly on women teams, or retired. There is a reason for this, multiple even. There was even a Reddit thread about why is there no openly queer players in NHL, last I checked three months ago. People who commented, they think it's the locker room culture, not even on NHL level, but in Juniors or earlier. Fans. Publicity. I think it's all the above. And I don't think any of that will be suddenly gone overnight. And I'm in a good position to come out, right? I don't have to prove anything so I'm not worried about losing my chance to prove anything, and will not be ridden with doubt. Is it me? Or is it everyone else? You know, that kind of thing. I know who I am, everyone knows who I am, and that's a luxury. So I'm not in a position to give advice to people who aren't there I am."

_He doesn't think there any more LGBT hockey players?_

"Um, not really? I don't know? It is possible? But, you know, I played with Zimmerman in Q and he still surprised me. But, like. Even if there are. Even if they are a hockey legend. If they are not comfortable with it, they don't have to. They shouldn't. It's not their responsibility to young generations or whatever. It's their lives we're talking, here. It is everyone else's responsibility to make a world a better place for other people. Or at least, not being shitty to other people. Does that make sense?"

It does. I don't know if I agree with him, but I get there he's coming from.

He looks uncertain. He looks young. He doesn't look like he's one step away from going out of the window, at least, as he did at some points in the interview. I'm sad, now, that I spent so much talking about his relationships experience when it's nobody's business, and not about what he thinks about hockey culture, toxic masculinity, and LGBT rights. We had only an hour to talk, and our time is up. 

At the same time, I'm sad that I had only an hour to talk to him at all. He is not what I was expecting, even after I saw him in the living room and not another person I expected to be here. And if I tell you the truth? Maybe it's the problem right here. Expectations, it seems, messed up his life, at least, a little.  
It's good to see him letting go of them, even a little.

And, even if I didn't think about that even for 5 seconds, before our talk, it's good to see him somewhat happy. I only hope it will go uphill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you guys think i need to add another chapter about fans and general public and eric and jack reaction?


End file.
